


there's no dumber dare than to love

by NoGood_InGoodbye



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoGood_InGoodbye/pseuds/NoGood_InGoodbye
Summary: Beca couldn’t stop the grimace from twisting her face at the use of her full name despite the knots squeezing her lungs and the pain stabbing her heart. She had to remind herself that humans needed air to live.Or: Bechloe lives the domestic life, Chloe's ideas aren't as great as she thinks, and Beca has a panic attack.





	there's no dumber dare than to love

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I don't own PP. Unbetaed (it's a big fucking mess so please help me if you spot anything!). There MIGHT be a bit of a sequel drabble to this so watch out for it

Seven months.

It was seven months ago that Beca had answered their weekly FaceTime to the sight of a grinning redhead in tears. If she were asked today what had made her agree to the redhead’s “proposition”, she still wouldn’t be able to answer—but _damn_ was it the best non-decision she’s ever made. As great as Los Angeles and her job was, she missed her friends. She missed living with someone familiar. She missed living with Chloe Beale.

They’d been living together for seven months. It wasn’t the same as living together in their cramped apartment in Brooklyn trying to get by. It was seven months of comfort and slightly-famous-but-not-quite-there-yet luxury. It was seven months of learning to live with just the two of them, the lack of Amy’s grand entrances and wild stories of her day creating a strange hole for them to fill. But they did it. They’d established an easy, simple little routine that the brunette kind of (secretly) loved.

Mondays were rush days. Chloe would wake up first and prepare some toast and eggs for the both of them—golden brown with scrambled eggs for her and barely toasted with a mushroom and cheese omelette for Beca. The redhead would wake the musician with some gentle coaxing and lots of teasing before she’d drop a chaste kiss on the brunette’s forehead and give up—which would then wake the younger woman up (the redhead had caught on to the girl’s game after the third week but was too far gone to let their new ritual end).

Chloe would then take the first shower while Beca ate her breakfast and prepared a cup of coffee for the both of them. When the older woman finished, the brunette took her shower as the redhead drank her coffee and packed all the materials she needed for her class that week. Once the brunette finished, she’d take the to-go cup that the redhead had prepared for her and the two would hurry out the door so that Beca could drop Chloe off at school before heading to work herself.

Beca would get home first and make them dinner (she remembered the first time the redhead had learned she could cook, the surprise and complete awe in ocean blue eyes made getting her ass in gear after hours in the studio more than worth it), leaving Chloe’s in some Tupperware and labeling it with a post-it before hiding away in her room to finish off more work. Chloe would come home hours later, heat up her dinner and disappear into her room after a quick little peck hello to her favorite former-DJ and finish off the rest of her paperwork.

Tuesdays were almost the same except instead of the redhead rushing, it was the former DJ. Tuesdays were meeting and client consultation days for the brunette, who’d wake up first, grumbling and cursing as she rolled out of bed and took a quick shower. The redhead, hearing the thumps and swearing from the room right next to hers, would crawl out of bed and prepare a more wholesome meal than the day before—pancakes or waffles, sometimes French toast on the redhead’s better days, and some fruit.

Beca would walk out of the shower in her best pantsuit, scowl set and glare fixed, before cold blue would find the smiling pancakes/waffles/French toast waiting for her under a burning grin. The brunette would roll her eyes, making the redhead’s grin grow before the older woman would drop a quick kiss on the shorter woman’s cheek and bounce away into the bathroom for her own pre-work ritual. By the time the former DJ has finished washing the dishes and collecting the contracts and paperwork she’d need for the day, the redhead would appear at her doorway with her usual to-go coffee cup and a bright little smile, already in her own uniform and ready for the day.

Chloe would get home first and make some variation of Beca’s favorite, wrapping her plate in plastic and leaving it in her room (because the teacher knew she’d forget to eat otherwise) before disappearing into her room, only getting a distracted “Hey” whenever the brunette arrives hours later.

Wednesdays were much more relaxed for both women, Chloe getting up first to prepare their breakfast as she sang for Beca to get up. The brunette would stumble out of her room minutes later, glare laden with sleep as she rubbed away the sleep from her eyes and covered her yawn with her free hand. The pair would fill each other in on their weeks over breakfast before Chloe would bounce her way into the shower and Beca would fall asleep on the couch waiting (although she swore she was just resting her eyes _every time_ ).

Chloe would walk out freshly dressed and bright-eyed before tickling Beca awake and dropping a quick peck on the brunette’s crown before preparing her papers for the day. Beca would take her usual 15-20 minutes prepping for her day before grabbing her things and calling for the redhead by the entrance so they could leave. Chloe would come bounding in, hand Beca her to-go coffee and drop a quick kiss on the brunette’s cheek before bouncing out the room and waiting in the car to let the younger woman lock up before either of them were brought to work.

Beca would arrive home first, cook up one of the redhead’s favorite dishes before leaving it in a Tupperware and sticking a post-it before sliding it on to the kitchen counter. Chloe would arrive an hour or two later, drop her things in her room, grab her dinner, and then slip into the brunette’s room and just stay in. Beca would let Chloe listen to her older work (the ones that aren’t confidential) and the two would spend hours together, Chloe eating her dinner as Beca tells her about her day and the weird people she’d met that week until one of them would fall asleep (normally, it was Chloe, and Beca would wash the dirty dishes before slipping into bed with the redhead (just like old times)).

Thursdays were a repeat of Tuesdays (minus the extravagant breakfasts) and Fridays were Chloe’s Mondays (although it was the only weekday Beca would wake up first and make breakfast).

Saturdays were their days. They never woke up earlier than noon. On Saturdays, Beca would wake up first, usually some time a little after one, and make some coffee and either buy their late breakfast-lunch (she refuses to call it brunch) at their favorite diner or cook up Chloe’s latest craving. Beca would play whatever latest track she’s working on off her phone, trying to come up with lyrics or find new melodies to try as she cooks up their meal.

Chloe would come in just as the breakfast-lunch was just about ready and would set their island table (because the only time they ever used their dining table was when Aubrey was over, or when they had people they actually wanted to impress) before grabbing their drink for the day (it varied on how shitty their week had been to how much wine they still had stocked up). They’d spend the rest of the day indoors binge-watching or lazing around doing something and nothing until they ordered in for dinner and fell asleep in one or the other’s bed (old habits die hard).

Sundays were “date” days, according to Chloe. They’d go out and do things (like grocery shopping and finding the biggest sales in the city or dropping by the shelter to play with the animals even if they didn’t have the time to really adopt one just yet) and just spend their day together—like a Saturday but out of the house. This particular Sunday, though, was spent going to places the brunette was _certain_ the redhead would love. It was a blindingly fast day and even though Beca felt like she’d run around the whole state of California, she couldn’t be more energized.

Maybe it was the way Chloe buzzed with life and grinned at every little thing they passed. Maybe it was the warmth seeping from tanned hand to hers. Maybe it was because just standing next to the redhead made Beca’s heart feel like she’s done a triathlon. Maybe it was simply because they were celebrating her favorite person’s birthday.

The restaurant she’d reserved a table at was dimly lit, candles and gentle lighting bringing a sense of intimacy to the pair’s already “too-close” relationship.

Chloe leaned over, deep blue sparkling over a mischievous smirk. “You should totes pretend to propose to me.” Beca’s brow simply rose in silent question, stomach knotting and breath hitching (at the gleam in her eyes, at the lilt in her voice, at the confidence in her tone—at how she hoped she meant it the way she wanted her to). “We can see if someone in the restaurant gives us free drinks. People love it when stuff like that happens.”

The knots in the brunette’s stomach twisted and flipped. She could barely say she liked her, let alone propose—fake or not. “Why am I proposing? You do it. It was your idea.”

“But it would be more believable if you do it, Bec.”

“No one knows us. It doesn’t matter who does it.”

“Fine then.” The mischievous gleam in ocean blue eyes sparkled even brighter as the redhead slipped out of her seat and took the musician’s hand in hers (her PR team was going to kill her). Beca wondered if the older woman could feel her pulse pounding through her body, could hear her heart beating its way out of her chest. Air suddenly felt like such a rare commodity and the brunette wondered what she’d ever done to deserve this.

Chloe cleared her throat before she grinned up at her, a mix of childish mischief and warm wonder tilting her full pink lips. “Rebeca Ann Mitchell,” Beca couldn’t stop the grimace from twisting her face at the use of her full name despite the knots squeezing her lungs and the pain stabbing her heart. She had to remind herself that humans needed air to live. “You are my best friend.” She never knew hearing the very speech she’s always wanted to hear could fucking break her heart like this. “You bring me to work every day because you don’t want me to commute, even if it’s only twenty minutes away from our house by bus. You call or text me every time you finish work just to check on me or let me know that you’re okay and on your way back. Whenever you cook, it’s _always_ my favorite food because you always think of me first. You buy scented candles even if you hate them because you know I like to light them after a long day at work.

“You watch cheesy romcom movies with me even if you hate them and have to hold yourself back from making smartass comments when you know it’s my favorite movie or it’s our first time watching them. You write sweet little post-its and leave it around the house during summer break when you know I’ll be bored out of my mind without work and you’ll be busy at the studio so you can’t keep me company. You’ve been there through every major breakup and heartbreak I’ve ever experienced in my life and you’ve been the steady rock I could always count on to keep me going. You—Becs? Beca, oh my god you’re shaking, are you okay?”

The musician forced a stiff nod, throat too tight and breaths coming in too shaky to say or do anything else. She had to remind her lungs to _breathe_ because it was still necessary for life—no matter how painful it was right now. She couldn't focus on anything but her thundering heart and the weight settling over her lungs. It took all her mental power to keep herself going—shaky breath in, stuttering breath out.

“Beca…” it was the redhead’s slow, worried voice. The voice she used for consoling her. The voice she used when she knew she’d break. The voice she used when she knew Beca had broken.

Even the strongest fighters could break down—and Beca had been fighting this for far too long.

“god, I’m sorry, I just—” the brunette scrambled out of her seat, pulse beating madly in her clogged throat as the musician practically sprinted out the restaurant and into the sparse streets of LA.

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t play this game.

Because it was never a game for her.

The air felt stifling and thick, her throat burning along with her eyes as she found the nearest alley and fell apart. It was all too real—the way Chloe had looked at her, the soft, caressing tone she’d used, the things she’d _said_. If Beca had closed her eyes and forgotten the redhead’s intentions, she’d have said yes in a heartbeat—she’d have believed she was being proposed to by the love of her life.

“Beca?”

The musician froze, holding her breath as tears fell quietly down her cheeks. She buried her face between her knees in hopes that the redhead would miss her.

She didn’t.

Beca felt the air shift as a warm hand landed softly on her knee. She simply stiffened in reply and refused to budge.

“Beca,” the redhead tried again. “What’s wrong?”

The brunette gulped in the lump in her throat and took a few steadying breaths before answering, voice shaky but clear. “Stage fright.”

The redhead would’ve believed her if she hadn’t performed with the younger woman so many times before. Chloe knew the difference between a Beca with stage fright and pre-performance panic and a Beca who was about to have a panic attack for a whole other reason.

This was not a Beca with stage fright.

“Becs.” It was both a warning and a plea.

And Beca tried to stay strong—she tried not to budge and give in because damn if it didn’t hurt every time she played Chloe’s game. But Beca was not strong—she was brave and determined and stupidly courageous and a fighter—but not strong. Especially not against warm tan thumb rubbing soothing circles on her knee. Not against ocean blue eyes shining with unshed tears and worry. Not against honey tones trying to be strong just for her. Not against Chloe Beale.

Chloe Beale was her weakness.

“I can’t do it.”

The redhead’s absentminded ministrations stopped at the croaked admission, a stilted heartbeat passing quietly before she continued. Chloe’s voice just as soft, “Can’t do what, Bec?”

The musician gulped down the lump in her throat, shaking hands balling in to fists as the sound of her heartbeat echoed in her ears as cold blue rose to meet the ocean. “This.”

And Chloe watched as Beca’s dam finally broke.

“I can’t do this, Chlo. I can’t keep playing games with you anymore and act like I don’t _feel_ anything. I can’t hear you tell me all the things I do for you and know that you don’t know why I fucking do them. I can’t just _sit_ there and let you fucking _propose_ to me knowing that this all just a stupid fucking _game_ to you—a way to win some damn drinks that I could’ve—I would’ve bought them for you in a heartbeat, Chlo! I ca—I can’t— _fuck_!”

Beca paid no attention to the sting on the back of her crown as she threw her head back. The pain helped keep her grounded as she struggled to breathe normally, tears falling as fast as her words as her throat clogged and burned and she held a hand over her thundering heart.

“Becs, Beca.” Warm tan hands fell on pale, wet cheeks. “I need you to breathe, sweetie, okay? Can we take a big breath in? Just copy me, okay?”

Soothing circles traced gently over her cheek, getting Beca to open her eyes despite the fear and panic so clear in her cold blue orbs. Seconds blurred into minutes as the redhead slowly but surely got Beca through her panic attack, the brunette’s breathing falling slow and steady as the tremor in her body turned into nothing more than the chill from being in a skirt and blouse in a dank alleyway.

Beca watched the redhead lean in, warm blue swimming so close she was drowning.

“Better?”

All the brunette could do was nod before she felt warm soft lips land gently on her forehead, lingering a second or two too long before the redhead fell back into view.

“Good.” Warm tan thumbs returned to running soft circles over her cheekbones. “Because I never wanted to hurt you, Beca—no, let me finish. I’m sorry I made you feel like I was just playing with you, but that was never my intention. I care about you too much to _ever_ want to hurt you. I’m sorry you thought that I didn’t mean anything I said—even if I could never really tell _why_ you do things for me.” Chloe paused, lower lip curling into her mouth as warm blue eyes flashed with—something. “You’ve never really said it, you know?”

“What?” Warm tan thumbs stilled at the question, ocean blue meeting cold ice ones.

“You’ve never told me you loved me.” Beca sucked in the breath she’d just gotten back. “Not in passing and not even as a joke.”

“Because I can’t joke about that.”

It was Chloe’s turn to hold her breath.

“Because I’d mean it every time I say it.”

She leaned in (she who? Neither of them could tell you).

“Because I do. I love you.”

And Beca knew that nine years and seven months was nothing compared to that moment and the future it promised—because kissing Chloe Beale tasted like home with a hint of forever.

**Author's Note:**

> The last line was very heavily inspired by one of my favorite Mevie writers, comebackbehere and her [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11834250) that I heavily recommend every human being to read.
> 
> Prompt given from my friendddd (s/o to H): “You should totally pretend to propose to me,” their best friend said. “We can see if someone in the restaurant gives us free drinks. People love it when stuff like that happens.”  
> My stomach flipped. I couldn’t even say I liked you, let alone propose - fake or not. “Why am I the one proposing? You do it. It was your idea.”  
> [Link to prompt/s](https://the-modern-typewriter.tumblr.com/post/159692607798/secretly-in-love-starters)
> 
> Okay, so I have good news, bad news, and great news! (Depending on who's perspective we're looking at hahaha)
> 
> Okay, so good news is that I'm back pitches! I know I missed the update on Empires but I've been busy helping my best friend with life :(((( Bad news is that I've made zero progress with Empires (so sorrry :((( I'm so stuck but I swear I'm trying! I'll update as soon as I get it finished!) GREAT news is that I passed my thesis proposal! FUCK YEAH! So all I need to do now is the research paper and then work on pre-production!!!
> 
> Anyways! Tell me what y'all think (i know it's a mess but I've been going through some shit and I'm trying (TTwTT))


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